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When David Lynch's "Twin Peaks" returned to television in 2017 after a 26-year hiatus, it felt like the perfect cultural moment for Jamie Stewart's Xiu Xiu to tackle Angelo Badalamenti's haunting soundtrack. After all, few artists have spent as much time excavating the darker recesses of American suburbia as Stewart, whose band has been turning indie rock inside out since 1999 with their unflinching examinations of trauma, sexuality, and psychological unrest. The marriage of Lynch's surreal Pacific Northwest noir and Xiu Xiu's confrontational experimentalism was always going to be either brilliant or catastrophic – thankfully, it's the former.

Released in 2016, just ahead of the Twin Peaks revival fever, "Plays The Music Of Twin Peaks" emerged from Stewart's longtime obsession with the series. Having grown up during the show's original run, he'd carried Badalamenti's compositions with him for decades, finding in their dreamy menace a kindred spirit to his own artistic explorations. The project began as a series of live performances, with Stewart initially unsure whether the material would translate to a full album. Those doubts evaporated quickly once he began deconstructing these beloved pieces in earnest.

What makes this covers album so compelling is how Stewart resists the obvious temptation to simply coat Badalamenti's work in Xiu Xiu's typically abrasive textures. Instead, he approaches each piece as an archaeologist might, carefully excavating new emotional layers while preserving the essential DNA that made the originals so effective. The album opens with "Laura Palmer's Theme," transformed from its original swooning romanticism into something far more unsettling. Stewart's fragile vocals float over sparse piano and subtle electronic manipulations, creating an atmosphere of profound melancholy that feels both faithful to Lynch's vision and unmistakably contemporary.

The genius of the album reveals itself most clearly on tracks like "Audrey's Dance" and "The Pink Room." Where the former originally bubbled with teenage rebellion and sexual awakening, Stewart's interpretation strips away the playfulness to reveal something more vulnerable and uncertain. His version moves at a glacial pace, each note weighted with the kind of emotional gravity that transforms nostalgia into something approaching grief. "The Pink Room," meanwhile, becomes an exercise in controlled chaos, with Stewart layering his voice into an unsettling chorus that suggests the psychological fragmentation at the heart of Lynch's work.

Stewart's vocal approach throughout the album is particularly noteworthy. Rather than attempting to match Badalamenti's instrumental grandeur with bombast, he opts for intimacy, often whispering or crooning his wordless melodies as if sharing secrets. This technique reaches its apotheosis on "Dance of the Dream Man," where his voice becomes another instrument in the arrangement, weaving between synthesizers and treated guitars like smoke through trees.

The album's most successful moments come when Stewart allows himself to venture furthest from the source material. "Sycamore Trees" – originally performed by Jimmy Scott in the series – becomes a showcase for Stewart's ability to find beauty in discomfort. His version stretches the song's already unsettling qualities into something approaching horror, with discordant electronics and processed vocals creating an atmosphere that would fit seamlessly into Lynch's more nightmarish sequences.

Perhaps most impressive is how Stewart manages to make this collection feel like a cohesive Xiu Xiu album rather than a mere exercise in interpretation. The sequencing creates its own narrative arc, moving from the melancholic opening through moments of genuine terror before arriving at something resembling acceptance. It's a journey that mirrors the original series' exploration of how darkness lurks beneath small-town American life.

In the years since its release, "Plays The Music Of Twin Peaks" has rightfully taken its place among the finest tribute albums of the 21st century. It stands as proof that the best covers aren't faithful reproductions but rather conversations between artists separated by time and circumstance. Stewart's achievement here is making Badalamenti's compositions feel newly urgent while never losing sight of what made them special in the first place. For longtime Xiu Xiu fans, it represents the band's most accessible work without sacrificing any of their experimental edge. For Twin Peaks devotees, it offers fresh perspectives on familiar material. Most importantly, it works as a standalone piece of art, requiring no knowledge of either source to appreciate its strange, beautiful power.